As she saw, she knew that Koios White Oak had been wrong. She’d passed the test of competency easily. This was a test of loyalty. For she saw Kip, and Karris, and Gavin Guile himself on the bane, and she knew that if she obeyed the Color Prince, she would doom them all.

If she was to have the power to change the world, if she was to save ten thousand naïve young women in the future from the sharks and sea demons, she must let her friends die. She had begged the Color Prince to save Kip and Karris before—had traded Blood Robes’ lives for theirs in Garriston. Not half a year ago, her friends had been worth her oath and the lives of a few strangers. Was saving them now worth the dream of a new, changed, pure world?

“Do you know what Atirat needs, Aliviana?” the Color Prince had asked her last night.

“Sacrifices?” she hazarded.

“Light. Every god is birthed in light.”

And, weeping, light she brought.

Chapter 110

The first great wave came from behind the skimmer.

Gavin shouted something, but it was lost in the roar of water falling and crushing and sweeping over the back of the skimmer. His body language was unmistakable, though. He threw himself at the reeds and threw luxin down them as hard as he could. The Blackguards followed his example, and the skimmer jumped forward.

But they weren’t as fast as the great swell that swept Kip off his feet. He grabbed on to the rail with both hands, and as it flipped him around, he saw the spire rising out of the sea behind them. Already, it was hundreds of feet high. It was the origin of the great wave and the pounding water falling from the sky both.

Then Kip was crushed down against the deck. He heard the sound of luxin snapping and ripping loose and he saw Gavin flying off the front of the skimmer. He’d shot luxin so hard, he’d torn the reeds off. They were all suddenly airborne. Kip lost the railing—or maybe it disintegrated. He could see nothing except water. Whatever had hurled the sea upward had stopped, and now the seas dropped again with all the chaos of a waterfall. Kip fell and fell and fought for one deep breath. When he landed in the water, it was into a current that blasted him sideways. He hit something, scraped something else. It was no use trying to fight, he was being tumbled head over heels. He had no idea which way was up.

Feeling something beneath him, he grabbed it, missed, slipped. The current was forming swift rivers, and he knew that he needed to avoid the deeper current. He grabbed again, catching what felt like a tree branch, and walked himself hand over hand toward the weaker current. His lungs were burning, and the water was so fouled that he couldn’t see anything but green. He fought down his panic, fought down the wildness. Hand over hand, Kip. He grabbed root after root and kept going, going.

Moments later, he felt the temperature change on his back. Air. Wedging his feet in among the roots, he lifted his head and breathed.

The current almost pulled him into the depths and he staggered, but caught himself. He was standing on a new island, and everywhere, water was sluicing off in great rivers back into the sea. The land, if land it was, wasn’t uniform. In some places the water had no way to seek lower ground, and it stood in ponds and lakes.

Green. Every possible shade from the slate green of lichen to the red-tinged green of a ruby leaf. Radiant emerald greens that glowed from within and the dull, earthen greens of roots; spruce and sage and seaweed and olive and sea foam and mint green. The entire island was an amalgam of living vegetation and green luxin. Kip was standing on roots pulsing with life. He saw an entire galleon, mysteriously unbroken, wedged between the branches of what looked like a fallen tree, fifty feet in the air. But even as Kip stared in wonder, he saw branches climbing up the galleon’s hull like an ivy shoot. They wrapped over the galleon’s waist, thickened, and crushed the decks, spilling sailors everywhere.

The entire island was living vegetation, and it was waking.

Searching for the Blackguards, Kip saw the black-garbed figures rising, spread over five hundred paces. He only saw eight of them, but there were more in the water, swimming, fighting. Gavin stood a hundred paces away, waving, and pointing toward the spire. He looked urgent.

Kip ran toward him.

Coming to a channel of swiftly flowing water that was too wide to jump across, Kip threw green luxin down at his feet, making a plank to run on like he’d seen Commander Ironfist do before. It was easier than any drafting he’d ever done. The green light seemed to press itself physically into his eyes; he barely had to open the tap, and it flowed out just as easily. He felt the wild joy and freedom of green, a joy without terror, a joy without anchor—

Kip didn’t think it was his own joy he was feeling.

Gavin wasn’t waiting for Kip; he was sprinting for the spire. That he didn’t wait first hurt Kip’s feelings, then terrified him. Gavin would wait, if he could. If there wasn’t some absolutely desperate need, if seconds weren’t absolutely crucial, he would gather up his forces. Not only Kip, but everyone. Gavin would want to have his whole team together for both humane and tactical reasons. That he thought there was no time for either—

A sound like a thousand sighs swept across the bane—air being released, the hollow echo of bubbles opening. Kip ran straight over a rising cocoon yawning open, its membrane tearing as a jade green hand clawed the air. Commander Ironfist had been right. Green wights had flocked here by the hundreds or thousands to be perfected by the bane itself. And now they were rising. Kip hurdled over the color wight rising from its gooey cocoon and ran faster than he’d run in his entire life.

“Load the cannons,” Commander Ironfist said. He was looking out over the bay at the new island through the mounted long lens that the battery’s gunners had used to sight targets. His face was as hard as Teia had ever seen. “Hezik! You have some experience?”

A Blackguard with shoulders like a buffalo stepped forward. He had only one ear, a thick scar down the left half of his face testimony to a sword stroke. “Yessir, mother commanded a pirate hunter in the Narrows.”

“Recommendations. Time’s short.”

“Don’t load all the guns. Only these two can hit that damn thing at all, and only this one with any sort of accuracy.” He gestured to the big bronze culverin. “Six thousand paces, but from this height, and with this powder, nice big grains rather than fine, wrap the first shot in sacking to help me get the range…”

“Your command, Hezik. Take out the big tower.”

Hezik was silent for a second, thinking, then he began pointing to men. “Inventory. I want to know how much of this grain of powder we have, and what shot. Do we have any shells? You, weigh that ball on the scales over there, then measure out four-fifths of that weight. You, there should be some gunners’ notes somewhere. Find ’em!”

Gavin had set fire to the huge yellow sword he’d drafted and was throwing flames with his left hand and slashing green wights with his right, still running toward the spire. Karris was hard on his heels, her ataghan cutting necks and stomachs as wights’ eyes were drawn by Gavin’s figure in front of her. As always, Kip brought up the rear, short of breath, but able to do anything with green empowering him.

Before they could reach the spire, dozens of wights rose up. They’d been kneeling, worshipping before the spire, but seeing these interlopers, they ran to intercept them. The spire was still growing, twisting higher toward the heavens. The wights themselves were growing, too. The green bane was making all of them stronger. Every one of them used the power differently. Some went green golem, wrapping themselves in green armor that made them three times as wide. Others looked like saplings, stripped of bark, a thin green skin replacing their own skin, green over red, skeletal and all the more alien for being so close to human. Others made themselves hugely tall. Others drafted huge claws or great, springy frogs’ legs. Others, less imaginative, drafted thick shields and cudgels and helms.